


All the World's a Fairy Tale

by Dawnwind



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-13
Updated: 2011-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Starsky is injured Hutch does some thinking about the nature of his relationship with his partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the World's a Fairy Tale

The warmth and security of Hutch's hand encircling his ankle helped alleviate the pain of Starsky's injuries; the terror of the last few minutes dropping away as he let himself marginally relax. He still was having a hard time processing the information that the creepy old lady he'd driven around the park watching the rising sun was in fact Lionel Fitzgerald, crazed serial killer. Did life get any stranger than that? He turned his head carefully to look at Hutch, but even that tiny movement encouraged the punk rock band rehearsing an atonal version of the 1812 Overture in his brain to play even louder. Starsky blinked, trying to clear his vision but nothing so far had helped, objects and people kept sliding in and out of view like a piece of film looped into a projector the wrong way.

"What kinda ice cream didja get?" Starsky forced himself to speak, feeling like he needed to keep connected to Hutch or he'd defy the laws of gravity and spin off into orbit.

"Huh?" Hutch asked distractedly. He squeezed Starsky's ankle tighter with affection. "Vanilla, I guess."

"W-wimp." Starsky struggled to keep talking, suddenly very afraid that he'd lose the ability.

"Tell you what," Hutch remarked heartily, a smile in his voice although Starsky was having a difficult time even focusing on his face. "After the ER gets done with you I'll buy you the biggest hot fudge sundae you ever ate--vanilla, chocolate ice cream, whatever you want."

"Sounds pretty good to me," K. C. from K. C. chimed in. Starsky had almost forgotten her, even though she was attached to his arm like she was worried he was going to fall over. Come to think of it, that was distinctly possible.

"K. C., can you keep an eye on his while I cuff this thespian?" Hutch's hand moved off his ankle and Starsky had the weird urge to call him back, beg him not to leave. "The paramedics should be here soon."

"My pleasure," K. C. assured.

"So, you two met," Starsky spoke very slowly to improve his diction, but it was much harder than usual. "Make a good couple, all that blon...blond hair." Bombs were detonating in his head, multi-ton devices exploding with the force to take off the top of his skull. This was bad. "Hu'sh?"

"Hutch?" K. C. echoed him, her voice laced with fear.

"Starsk?" Hutch was back, his fingers combing through Starsky's hair again, pressing gently on the small bloody wound there.

Starsky jerked violently, the back of his head hitting the fence behind him but he had no control over his body any longer. "S'mthin's wron..." He could feel jittery worms scrabbling along his muscles and nerves, but was powerless to stop the brutal convulsions that ripped through him. The wail of sirens echoing on the narrow walls of the alley only exacerbated the excruciating pain in his skull and he arched backward, toppling the crate he'd been leaning against to the ground.

"Starsky!" Hutch wrapped his arms around his partner, pulling him off the stack of boxes before the rest of the pile fell. Starsky was in full seizure and impossible to hang on to. Luckily patrol officers and paramedics swarmed into the area, taking charge of Fitzgerald and helping to ease Starsky to the ground where he could be treated.

The terrifying episode stopped as suddenly as it started, leaving Starsky limp and barely breathing. He spewed vomit all over the pretty paramedic trying to start an IV in his left arm. She turned him onto his side so he wouldn't aspirate and quickly finished the operation, hooking fluids up to the IV needle in the blink of an eye.

Hutch was been pushed to the back of the group, as the paramedics slapped heart monitor leads on his buddy and recorded vitals. There was no repeat of the horrible seizure but Starsky remained unconscious.

Startled when Lionel Fitzgerald the third hurled Shakespearean curses at them both as he was forced into the patrol car, Hutch nearly charged after the actor, but K.C. pulled him back, talking softly until he could breathe again. When the paramedics loaded Starsky into the ambulance, Hutch tried to climb in but there wasn't room in the crowded vehicle.

"Let me drive you over to the hospital," K.C. reassured. "They're taking good care of him."

"My car..." Hutch murmured. "My car's near the taxi stand. Can you...?"

"No problem..."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The problem with hospitals, and waiting rooms, in particular, was that they were all just about the same. Hutch had been in too many, for too long, waiting out those tense hours before he found out about his partner's condition. Memories of the other times weighed heavily, merging with the current situation so that for a moment he couldn't quite remember whether he was waiting to hear if Starsky had survived surgery to remove a bullet in his back or surgery to relieve pressure on his brain.

An epidural hematoma. Why was it that Starsky seemed determined to work his way through the ER doc's trauma handbook? As far as Hutch was concerned, it wasn't at all necessary. Bullet wounds, poisonings, sprained ankles and now epidural hematoma. And what was it the doctor had said after the skull x-rays? Blood was collecting between the dura, or lining of the brain, and the bone itself. The bleeding needed to be controlled and evacuated as quickly as possible to avoid permanent damage.

Permanent damage. That little phrase had almost stopped Hutch's heart. His guilt over the incident had soared to even more terrifying heights. He had caused this. He had goaded Starsky into chauffeuring the 'old woman' around the park, thus giving her access to his partner's vulnerable head. She had seemed so innocuous. How could he have been so blind not to realize that a good actor could impersonate anyone, man or woman? If Starsky sustained brain damage, the blood was as much on his own hands as Fitzgerald's.

And what if he died...?

Hutch shuddered, walking aimlessly past the waiting room. He muttered something to the desk nurse about finding a place to rest and she suggested the chapel on the second floor.

The second floor? Was that up or down? Unable to recall what floor he was on Hutch stood dumbly in the elevator for a moment before pressing the button marked two.

The chapel was dim, quiet and deserted. A rainbow pattern of colored light splashed across the wooden floor, reflections from the sun streaming through a single abstract stained glass window. There were no pictures of Jesus or crosses to remind him of forced church going as a child. The room was just quiet and very peaceful, a healing place offering sanctuary for all denominations and religions.

As much as Hutch wanted to rage against Fitzgerald for doing this to his partner, he knew it wouldn't do any good. The man was insane, crazed with destructive anger after the accident that had ended his stage career. If Hutch railed against Fitzgerald as obsessively would he slip into a similar psychosis, unable to distinguish between the real world and one filled with people out to hurt, maim and destroy? He wanted to hate the actor, wanted him sent to trial for the murder of innocent people, but that might never happen. Clearly Lionel Fitzgerald was destined only for Cabrillo State, the hospital for the criminally insane. He would never work as an actor again, in a Shakespearean role, or one of his own nefarious creations. He couldn't understand his own actions, so Hutch had to be the strong one, the forgiving one, and try to understand for the both of them. Destructive anger had brought this pain and damage. Hutch clasped his hands around his own arms, hugging himself tightly. If he could manage to forgive Fitzgerald, and that might take some time, but maybe it was possible, then he needed to try and forgive himself, as well. So where did that leave Starsky?

Wrapped in the quiet serenity of the peaceful room, Hutch gave up his fears to a higher power and prayed. It wasn't something he often did, but Starsky's presence in his life was the one strong, important element that kept him sane and whole. If he lost Starsky he could end up just like Fitzgerald, a shell of a man lost in the 'what if's' of dreams. Hutch took a deep breath, projecting his prayer to the cosmos. Let Starsky retain his amazing personality, his joi de vive, and his zest for life. Let him live.

Deep inside, where he treasured his innermost fantasies, Hutch harbored a love so true that it wiped out all that had gone before. No thoughts of his ex-wife Vanessa ever gained entrance to those hallowed halls; they were the home to only one person--Starsky.

He recognized that this love was more than just that of best friends or buddies, but wasn't at all certain just what to do about it. He hadn't hidden it from Starsky, in fact, just the opposite, he'd flaunted his love with every touch on the belly, teasing, flirtatious grin and bump of a thigh when they sat together at the bar at Huggy's. There was no doubt in his mind that somehow Starsky knew of his love. Starsky wasn't shy or coy about his flirtations. He wore those tight jeans and come-hither eyes even when they were sharing a beer, hanging out on the couch watching baseball. Those visible bulges weren't for Willie McCovey. With his arms still around his chest Hutch could feel his breath quickening, his pulse racing--could he admit that there was desire, true sexual desire for Starsky? It was as real as any other facet of their partnership. He just wasn't sure how to express that in the intimate style of lovers. That part was what scared him. Being lovers. Hell, they were psychic lovers already, transmitting coded messages with glances, and the almost scary connection they'd shared for years. Would baring his body to Starsky be that strange when he'd already bared his soul?

Hutch clasped himself tighter, where had all this come from? His psyche was belching forth unspoken longings like a teenager in heat over the newest cheerleader. Waiting in a chapel for word from the surgeon was not the place to have these thoughts. He'd started with guilt and raced right across the emotional map to passion. It was unnerving how convoluted his thinking had become in such a short while. A lot like Starsky's. But on the other hand, if he had veered into the land of Starsky, perhaps Starsky might be circling the kingdom of Hutchinson, awaiting an invitation to come in?

Weirdly buoyed by this, Hutch bowed his head to the altar. Whatever magic the chapel had performed on him had worked. He was hopeful and at peace. He knew Starsky had come through the surgery without complication even before he returned to the O.R. waiting room.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"I know you, I've walked with you once upon a dream...."

Starsky crinkled his nose, irritated by the thick plastic invading his nostrils and waited, eyes closed, listening and cataloguing the sensations assailing him. Nasal cannula up his nose, shooting 100 % oxygen straight into the back of his throat making him long for a drink of water. Pounding headache with the weird disassociated feeling of quality painkillers. He was in a hospital--again. He had vague recollections of waking up once or twice earlier only to be shushed back to sleep by the nurses and once, his partner's voice. But this time there were differences besides the fact that he felt much more coherent. Someone was singing.

"I know you, the dreams of your eyes are so romantic a dream..."

"'M not sle'pin' beauty," Starsky said hoarsely without opening his eyes.

"No, more like Snow White," Hutch said and before Starsky realized what was happening, soft lips kissed his, not once but twice.

Opening his eyes in astonishment, Starsky stared directly into familiar and beloved light blue eyes. He smiled against the sweet lips still pressed against his. "And you're the prince who takes me away from the dwarfs?"

"If the shoe fits." Hutch sat back with a joyous smile on his face, strumming absently on his guitar.

"That's Cinderella..." Starsky identified. "Except the last thing I remember is King Lear ranting to the sky about taxi drivers, and maybe you mentioned ice cream?"

"I did, indeed." Hutch grinned.

"Where'd you get the guitar?"

"K.C. had a spare in the trunk of her taxi. She was scared to death seeing you pitch off that pile of boxes and wanted to stay, but I sent her home." Hutch strummed a few bars of 'Someday My Prince will come'. "Besides, she had an audition this afternoon with some new producer."

"You're disgustingly happy under the circumstances. I've never known you to sing songs from cartoon movies." Starsky coughed, his throat parched. "So, give me some ice cream, and bring me up to speed, quick."

"Nurse said ice chips for you, Snow."

"My skin's not white as..." Starsky stopped when Hutch shoveled ice into his mouth. He let the icy coldness melt on his tongue, staring at his best friend. Something was definitely up, and it wasn't just Hutch's mood. "You know," he said simply, looking Hutch over in the light of this new information. "You know, you're glowing."

"I know what?" Hutch asked evasively, holding out another scoop of ice.

"About me..." Starsky gingerly rubbed his forehead; carefully avoiding the large square of gauze he could feel taped over the left side of his head. The mammoth headache was nothing in the face of a declaration of this sort. "That I love you. That you love me."

"Yeah--I've always known." Hutch let that word trail off and put his guitar on the floor, taking Starsky's bandaged left wrist instead. "But things kind of slipped into place while I was waiting for you to wake up."

"Glad you didn't make up a crystal coffin while you had some time on your hands," Starsky teased. "But the wake up kiss was...a surprise." He hesitated, remembering the feel of Hutch kissing him, how it had sent shivers of delight up his spine. "A nice one."

"You only took that woman--man--"

"Whatever. Actor-Serial Killer?"

"On one last taxi ride because I goaded you into it. How many people do you let talk you into anything?" Hutch mused. "It had to be love. And if I recognized it in you, I had to let you see it in me."

"Prince Charming, if that's your real name, and I'm not so sure it is, I always saw it in you. Why d'you think I kept you around?"

"Now I'm kept?"

"Only if you're good." Starsky bent forward, bringing his head up off the pillow, to bestow a kiss on his partner's hand and groaned, his headache doubling it's efforts. "Damn,"

"Lie back, Starsk, I'll call the nurse."

"She's here." Starsky pointed behind Hutch's head then closed his eyes from the pain. This was a most exceptional day he could remember in decades and while there were gaps in his brain between getting bashed by a bionic Shakespearean actor and walking up being serenaded by Disney tunes, he couldn't imagine being happier. Well, except for the mother of all headaches, and Starsky knew from experience that it would fade away. But the knowledge that Hutch loved him--was in love with him, never would.

"Well, glad to see you're up and alert, Detective Starsky, it's time for vitals and medications. You shouldn't be moving your head so much, it will hurt worse," a perky Asian girl said brightly, taking his blood pressure with quick efficiency. "See, this is too high. You need to rest. And Detective Hutchinson needs to go take a shower and sleep, at home."

"Just give me a few more minutes here, Ping Lee, since I know you're a compassionate woman?" Hutch asked. Starsky could hear just a hint of wheedling in his tone. He opened his eyes again, just to witness such a miraculous thing--Hutch begging to be allowed to stay with the one he loved. Starsky chuckled; he could get used to this, and maybe figure out how to play it for all it was worth.

"Five more minutes." Ping Lee nodded with a grin. Starsky had the sudden realization that she saw what he saw in Hutch. A man besotted with love. They would have to be careful or the entire world would know after only one day. And they hadn't even done anything yet! "The doctor will be in to check out his handiwork, Detective Starsky," Ping Lee reminded. "So stay where you are."

"Dave."

"Dave," she echoed, and wiggling her fingers in a wave, left.

"Dave," Hutch said. There was such love in his eyes, and obvious gratefulness that Starsky had survived another injury that Starsky wanted to pull him into his arms and reassure him that he was truly all right. The pesky headache prevented such a happy action, but it would happen soon, of that he was certain.

"You don't have to call me that," Starsky protested.

"I thought you didn't like Snow White."

"I dunno, it's better'n 'dummy' on a scale of one to ten, but I like what you usually call me."

"What? Starsk?"

"When you say that it sounds like love to me."

"'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet'," Hutch quoted, and glancing back at the door to make sure Ping Lee had disappeared, he kissed Starsky's lips, both eyes and then ever so carefully, the bandage on his head. "I'll always call you Starsk. You're the first one to call me Hutch, did you know that?"

"It was because of the whole Barbie doll thing." Starsky placed his hand flat on Hutch's cheek, soaking in the healing love, the almost invisible five o'clock shadow scratchy under his palm. "You need a shave, and Ping Lee was right, a shower."

"I had other things on my mind this morning, Snow White, and what about Barbie?"

"Don't tell me nobody ever compared you to a Ken doll, Kenny?"

"A couple of girls in college, yeah."

"Well, my cousin Devra had this Barbie, and Ken was always coming to her rescue, and then they'd drive off in her red corvette. I was way older'n Devra but the car was cool, so I'd play with her."

"If Barbie and Ken had a corvette, you had to be an adult," Hutch said wryly, not revealing why he knew so much about the doll couple.

"Okay, it was when I was just outta the Army, are you happy?" Starsky retorted too sharply and winced. "Anyway, the day I met you, I thought--there's Ken doll personified. And that was before I knew your first name! I hadda call you Hutch."

"And I had to call you 'love'," Hutch whispered in awe, kissing Starsky's palm where it lay on his cheek.

"Yeah?" Starsky asked, shivering with happiness. The drugs were pulling him back into sleep, but he knew he'd have far better dreams than the earlier ones of a silver arm swinging at him in the dawn.

"Yeah. Ping Lee will be coming in any moment, so I'll get out of here."

"Bring me back some ice cream?"

"Any flavor you want."

"Vanilla as white as snow, fudge as black as a raven's wing and a cherry--cause you are." Starsky grinned evilly.

"The Snow White special, coming up." Hutch paused, picking up the guitar. "See you later, Starsk."

"And then we'll live happily ever after..." Starsky answered drowsily, the precious gift of love from Hutch one he would open again and again for the rest of forever.


End file.
